Flowers for Rocket
by Hyaenaa
Summary: Rocket was an experiment. He was never intended to have permanent intelligence. When his psyche begins to wither away and he regresses to his raccoon intelligence, his lifespan begins to dramatically drop. Peter Quill is determined to save both Rocket's mind and his life.
1. Chapter 1

**Flowers for Rocket: Chapter One**

* * *

_"The path I choose through the maze makes me what I am. I am not only a thing, but also a way of being - one of many ways - and knowing the paths I have followed and the ones left to take will help me understand what I am becoming."_

_Flowers for Algernon, 1959_

* * *

Rocket was arguably the most intelligent member of the team. This was something Peter Quill firmly believed and could not be swayed to think otherwise; not only was Rocket a never-ending pool of knowledge, but he also caught onto things with incredible speed and could figure things out that the rest of them could not.

Their time together had not been an experiment, as Rocket had grown accustomed to throughout his life. It was not a death trap as Peter's life had been before. It was a friendship, and even more than that, it was a secret love that Peter held deep within his heart, never intending for his emotions to reach the surface. If Rocket knew how he felt, he'd think that Peter was sick, wouldn't he? Peter wasn't used to being shy or reclusive about his feelings but when it came to Rocket, he knew that emotions were a delicate thing. Especially concerning his appearance.

Rocket wasn't an animal, and yet, for all his hatred of being considered such, Peter knew that deep down Rocket thought of himself as an animal. It was heartbreaking.

It was more perplexing than heartbreaking, however, the day that suddenly Rocket couldn't figure something out.

Drax and Gamora had been debating something Peter hadn't deemed important enough to listen to, not while Rocket was constructing some enormous weapon right in their living room. He leaned against the wall, eyes soaking in every action that Rocket partook in. Earlier, he'd excused his behavior for monitoring Rocket to make sure that he wouldn't build anything that could compromise their well being (Rocket's only objection was calling Peter a pansy before continuing on). It was a lie. He just loved watching Rocket work, as he loved watching Rocket simply _exist_.

The way that Rocket moved was like water. Effective, swirling with purpose, fluid. His hands never stopped moving, his brain always ten steps ahead of his body. Some sick part of Peter wanted those hands to work their magic on his body. He imagined that Rocket's head was full of blueprints, charts, mathematics, like a huge instruction sheet with lots of moving parts; animated in only a way that Rocket could grasp. There was no end to Peter's admiration.

This was, of course, why he was so startled when Rocket's hands halted over a joint to his machine. His fingers trembled and there was a look of sudden, great concentration that overtook Rocket's face, an expression of determined confusion. Rocket's hand hesitantly swiveled to another piece, but he stopped there too, looking lost. His hand stayed aloft, but suddenly, his eyes grew glassy, as though he wasn't really _there_ anymore.

Peter couldn't help the name before it escaped his lips. "...Rocket?"

His companion's ears shot up, tail twitching in recognition as Rocket glanced over. The life returned to his eyes and he blinked rapidly. "Huh?"

"You okay there, bud?" Peter inquired delicately, eyes scanning Rocket's face for answers.

Rocket stared back for a moment, blinking again, before he huffed loudly. "Yeah, Star-geek. I'm fine."

And he continued what he was doing. Yet somehow, his hands weren't as fluid, as though each action had an air of hesitation to it.

The next time that Peter witnessed Rocket have another episode of confusion was during battle.

It was a simple fight. Retrieve a hostage from the bad guys, return the hostage to the good guys, get some units out of it. Drax had already acquired the stolen child from the villain Skrulls and was returning to the ship. Gamora, Peter, and Rocket were falling back, battling the offenders as they went. Gamora was the closest to the ship and got back on with ease, readying the door for her remaining two teammates.

Rocket was firing away with efficiency as per usual, and as Peter made it within a few feet of the Milano, he found himself waiting for Rocket.

And yet, Rocket wasn't backing up.

Rocket held his gun with sudden trepidation, and Peter watched as his tail bushed up. His fingers fumbled with previously unseen clumsiness, something Rocket never had to deal with in the past. All he had to do was pull the trigger to destroy the oncoming attacker, who was closing in on him swiftly. And yet, Rocket seemed to not know what to do. His hands trembled over the gun and he practically dropped it, examining it and turning it over in his hands and - if Peter's eyes weren't deceiving him - _sniffing_ it.

"Rocket, come on!" Peter called to him.

Rocket didn't hear him, instead still turning the gun over in his hands as the Skrull advanced on him, aiming to murder. Peter couldn't watch anymore; with precise aim that _Rocket had taught him_, he shot the offending creature. This sudden blast caused Rocket to quite literally jump, his tail bushing up. He shook his head furiously, multiple times, before he turned on his heel and ran to the ship.

When they both made it on, Rocket turned to him and sneered, "Not a word, Quill. Not a fucking word outta you."

* * *

They had all been eating, idly chatting about the newest bounty they'd acquired and how to spend their units. Peter had an eye on Rocket, as usual, but this time it was with careful speculation. Rocket had been awfully silent since the slip-up during battle, and Peter was overwhelmed with concern about what was happening to his furry friend.

Rocket had been eating the spaghetti Drax made from a Terran recipe with the utensils given, as always, until about five minutes or so into the meal he paused. He looked over the fork in utter confusion, studying it as though seeing it for the first time. And then, it slipped from his hands, clattering onto the floor, his fingers grasping momentarily at the air as though he didn't know how to _hold_ a fork.

"Rocket...?" Peter asked.

By now, Gamora Drax and Groot were all staring as well, but this time, Rocket paid them no heed. He sniffed the food in front of him, whiskers twitching. He had that same glassy look that frightened Peter.

"I am Groot?" Groot pitched in, voice concerned.

The reflective eyes of their teammate didn't even glance up, instead tensely focused on his plate in what looked like severe contemplation.

"Rocket-"

Rocket began to eat the spaghetti with his muzzle - no hands, no utensils - just shoving his face into the food and chewing. Gamora outright gasped and Drax's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Hey, what the-? Rocket!" Peter almost shouted at this point, concern growing in his tone. He reached forward to do something, _anything_.

Rocket glanced up at him and pulled back from his food with a hiss, causing the other four Guardians to jump in surprise. It was then that Rocket seemed to return to his normal state, blinking and shaking his head as though it were plagued by an intense headache. He looked down at his plate, and then at all the rest of them, and there was an intense fear in his eyes.

A fear that made Peter sick to his stomach.

He hopped down from the table and Peter could've sworn that Rocket was _scampering_ away.

Gamora and Drax immediately began to theorize what had happened just then, but their voices numbed into blurry silence in Peter's mind as he stared at the space where Rocket had been.

He had been acting... Like an animal.

* * *

**This story is inspired by****_ Flowers for Algernon_****, though it has an entirely different story and ending. Rocket's animalistic behavior is almost a touchy concept for me, because though he appears in every way to be an animal, he has never felt like one to me. It almost feels offensive to display because of how hurt he is by his own species. I know what it's like to feel great dysphoria towards your own body. But then I have to remind myself that all people, intelligent or otherwise, are animals on the inside.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Flowers for Rocket: Chapter Two**

* * *

_"I don't know what's worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you've always wanted to be, and feel alone."_

_Flowers for Algernon, 1959_

* * *

It didn't take Peter long before he shook off his surprise and went after Rocket. Pushing himself up from his chair, he stood silently and walked in the direction Rocket had left in, with purpose in every step.

"Quill, wait," Gamora began to caution him. "Rocket is dangerous in normal circumstances. Right now, he..."

But she was cut off by the swishing of a door shutting behind him and he found himself outside of Rocket's door in seconds. With sudden hesitation, Peter shuddered and steadied himself.

Whatever was wrong with Rocket, he wanted to help.

Peter knocked on the door gently, and inside he heard the clattering of metal objects toppling over.

"Go away!" The trembling voice of his friend shouted from the inside.

Peter rested his head against the door, closing his eyes. They stung. "...I'm not going anywhere, Rocket. Not 'til we talk about what's been goin' on with you lately."

"Nothing's going on with me, now get the hell outta here. I fuckin' mean it." Rocket snarled on the other side of the door, and Peter imagined him yanking at his fluffy ears in frustration. Those same fluffy ears Peter wanted to kiss.

"Rocket!" Peter near-shouted back, voice stern and frustrated. "Listen man, you're worrying me big time, got it? I-"

"You ain't got nothin' to be worried about, so shut up! Just- _shut up_, Quill!" Rocket yelled at him, and Peter could've sworn he heard his voice crack.

Silence passed between them for a moment and Peter willed his heart to stop clenching.

A shaky sigh was released from Peter's mouth and he bit his lip. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Rocket. Whatever's going on... I'm here to help you through it, all right? We're... We're friends, dude. I wouldn't do anything that wasn't in your best interest."

There was no answer from the other side of the door.

"Rocket? Come on dude... Just, say somethin'." Peter tried, his voice strained with unyielding stress.

Nothing.

"In about five seconds, I'm'a come in there and force you to talk." Peter warned. When there was still no response from Rocket on the other side of the door, he used his fingerprint to override the lock, subsequently opening it.

"...Rocket?"

The room was a mess. Usually, Rocket had crates and boxes of various tools lying around, in addition to half-finished projects scattered over the floor. But the state of Rocket's bedroom was far more intensely awry than usual; he saw more machinery than he did carpet. It couldn't have all been done in one sitting, either. And, as all the Guardians were subconsciously aware, Rocket worked hard to distract himself from things that haunted him. Peter felt a shudder run down his spine as he wondered how long Rocket's upsets had been going on, and a dismal emotion yanked at his heart for not having caught on sooner.

What was even more alarming was that Rocket was no where to be seen, though. Peter scanned the room for a moment longer before he discovered a discreet hole in the wall beside Rocket's desk, and with creeping discomfort, realized that Rocket had built himself a tunnel throughout the Milano. And judging by the claw marks, it looked like he hadn't only utilized the aid of his tools.

Stepping over obstructive unfinished machines just lying around (most of which were probably deadly on a catastrophic scale), Peter made his way to the little hole. The inside was dark, near pitch black, and it seemed to stretch on in a never-ending abyss. It was also far too small for Peter to enter, which he surmised was intentional. He frowned in displeasure before standing upright, only to see Gamora standing at the door.

Unfazed by the chaotic state of Rocket's quarters, she stared at Quill with almost no expression. "Peter. Groot did not know what was wrong, so we've contacted an old... Friend, of Rocket's. She says that she may have some idea of what's going on with Rocket's behavior, but she needs to speak to someone who spends a lot of time with him, and Groot isn't very conversational."

Peter swallowed to wet his throat and nodded, once again treading cautiously over the precarious set up Rocket had on his floor.

He followed Gamora into the common area. Drax was sitting at the table with a small Groot sleeping in his pot, gently nestled in Drax's arms. Poor little guy - he tended to tire out his small body with all the worrying he did. Peter nodded to them before he looked up, and he was mildly alarmed to see the face of an otter projected onto his communication screen. Just from looking at her, he could tell she was intelligent in the same way that Rocket was.

"Peter Quill," her voice sounded slightly aged, and she looked weary in a way that Rocket never had. "It's wonderful to finally make your acquaintance - my name is Lylla. I understand that you're very close to my darling Rocket."

He twitched lightly at the word 'darling', wondering what her previous relationship with Rocket had been like. "...I don't know about close, but we do live together."

Lylla's eyes shifted to Gamora for a moment, a movement so slight it was almost unnoticeable. "Quill, can you tell me about what Rocket's behavior has been like lately?"

She watched him carefully and Peter felt almost uncomfortable beneath her scrutinizing gaze. "Well, he... He's been having moments when it seems like he's not really himself, y'know? Like he's... An, uh..." He cleared his throat.

"An animal?" Lylla inquired, her eyes seeming to deepen with concern.

Peter's sigh was loud, slicing through the air. That was the last word he ever wanted to use to describe Rocket. "...Yeah. Like an animal."

Lylla closed her eyes for a moment, her whiskers twitching and an expression of despair overwhelmed her visage. "He's in great trouble, then."

Peter, Gamora, and Drax all glanced to each other. Drax was the first to speak. "What kind of trouble is our friend experiencing?"

Lylla breathed heavily. "Rocket, like myself, came from a series of experimental labs on a planet called Half-world. Depending on which scientists experimented on us, we were either intended to become anthropomorphic guardians for aneurotypical patients, like pets, or we were intended to become test subjects. Playthings, almost - something to make sure that the scientists knew how to properly control what would happen to the real pets. Some of the test experiments could become pets, if they survived long enough to be replaced. I was meant to be a pet from the beginning. Rocket... Rocket was an experiment, who later became a pet."

The three guardians exchanged concerned, disquieted glances. So this was where Rocket had originated?

The disturbed otter continued. "See, us pets, we're supposed to live as long as our owners, so we have long life-spans because of an elaborate surgery. The surgery is null if we don't take occasional supplements for the rest of our lives, though. This lengthened life span is in tune with our level of intelligence. The experimental subjects, like Rocket, weren't given this surgery. They were given a temporary fix to alter their level of intelligence, and slightly elongate their life-span. Which means, once his lengthened life span gets close to it's end, his intelligence drops dramatically, and then his lengthened life span follows."

Peter froze as it dawned upon him what was happening. "You're saying... Rocket is dying?"

She returned his fear with a solemn nod. "My uncle, Rocket's comrade, Wal Russ met his end this way, since he too was an experiment."

Peter couldn't find his voice. Luckily, Gamora could. "Is there anything we can do to stop this?" Her face was, for the first time since this ordeal begun, perturbed.

"There is," Lylla winced. "Rocket would have to receive the permanent surgery. The supplements can be found or produced naturally, those won't be hard to come across. But in order to get the surgery, Rocket would have to return... To _Half-world_."

Peter cringed at the very thought, breathing in heavily with painful resignation. He knew that Rocket was especially touchy about his past; any reminder could set him off. To return him to the place of his undoing, frankly, would be hell for his friend.

But Peter refused to lose Rocket the same way he had his mother.

"Thank you for your help," Peter said quietly. "This is going to be a whole new level of awful, but you just saved his life."

Lylla looked saddened by this statement. "I haven't spoken to Rocket in a long time, and I doubt I will soon. That doesn't mean I don't care... Take good care of him, Quill. I know you'll be good for him."

Her face disappeared, and the screen darkened into emptiness.

He had no time to dwell on her words. Peter ran a hand through his hair, and with stinging eyes, he commanded Gamora to set a course for Half-world.

* * *

**As you can tell, I took a LOT of creative liberty with Half-world's workings, connecting only loosely to the original storyline. This is more or less in a universe where the scientists didn't lose their funding and were able to stay, which means there was no wall around the quadrant and that they could communicate with other races (this comes into play later on, as none of the scientists in this story are human). This also means that they were the ones experimenting on the animals, not the robots. I only chose to do it this way because the film seems to insinuate that Rocket was tortured to gain his intelligence, whereas in the comics this was not the case. Annihilation's depiction is ignored, by the way, except for the fact that Lylla has moved on from Rocket.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Flowers for Rocket: Chapter Three**

* * *

_"You take liberties with other people's minds. You can't tell how I feel or what I feel or why I feel."_

_Flowers for Algernon, 1959_

* * *

It was Drax who first found Rocket, hours after their conversation with Lylla, and he called very quickly for the others. They discovered Rocket burrowed in a wall-hole, nesting in tattered pieces of his own clothes. There were a few metal items scattered around him as well, no doubt tools for creating weapons. He must've taken them because they were shiny, an assumption Peter took with a cringe upon realizing that Rocket was acting completely as a raccoon by that point in time.

Rocket looked upon them with sleepy eyes, bristling as they all walked closer. A low growl began emanating when he saw Gamora advancing and he reached out to swipe at her as a warning, a hiss arising from his maw. She back-stepped in caution and mild surprise, glancing warily to her team mates. Drax was met with the same amount of welcoming, to which he gruffly muttered under his breath. Peter assumed that he wouldn't be any more well received by their vicious friend, but was urged by the two rejected guardians to try. He was surprised when Rocket didn't scratch at him, but instead, narrowed his eyes and scooted back further into his tunnel by a few inches.

He glanced back to Gamora and Drax for support, and they nodded enthusiastically at him to somehow comfort Rocket so that he could be subjugated. They couldn't have him roaming around the ship in hiding when they needed him to be on Half-world, which they had docked at by then.

"Hey buddy," Peter's voice shook as he took a step or so forward, reaching out his hand. "It's me, Peter. You remember me, don'tchya? We're friends..."

_Friends_, his inner voice repeated in dismal resignation.

Rocket's eyes held a light of curiosity now, alongside their initial caution. He craned his neck to sniff at Peter's hand, his snout only a few centimeters from his skin, and Rocket had never looked more frighteningly animalistic than he did right then, not to Peter. He almost felt his eyes stinging with tears, but quickly blinked them away when Rocket seemed to move a bit closer.

"It's your scent," Gamora mused in quiet recognition.

"What is?" Peter questioned, not taking his eyes from Rocket even as he turned his head slightly.

"Rocket has always been the most... Friendly with you," she responded. "I think he still recognizes your smell."

Peter felt his face heat up slightly. "What? No he hasn't... Has he?"

"Our small friend has never had much interest in being in my company," Drax agreed, an air of disappointment to his tone. "It would be understandable for him to like you the most."

He couldn't see Gamora nodding from the angle, but he could tell that she was. "Unlike us, you have never insulted Rocket with demeaning names," and she sighed, a token to the fact that she still regretted that.

Peter would've mustered up a response if not for the fact that Rocket chittered and _grabbed_ Peter's fingers with both of his tiny black hands. Peter was alarmed, but attempted to keep his cool. He knew from experience with wild animals (he winced internally to think of Rocket as such) that when you were afraid, it alarmed the animal that there was something to be afraid of.

Rocket sniffed at Peter's hand, before burying his forehead into his palm and making a soft cooing noise, too high pitched to really sound like Rocket. Peter was surprised by the softness of Rocket's fur as it shifted against his skin and he felt guilty, almost as if he was taking advantage of Rocket. Rocket wouldn't let Peter touch him when he was in his senses, the only reason he was letting Peter touch him now was because he was curious. The thought of touching him sent shudders down his spine and Peter willed himself to remember that Rocket wasn't really _there_ right then.

Peter's guilt swelled as he attempted to disperse his romantic elation. How dare he feel this way towards Rocket, when he was an _animal_ right then? How dare he feel any sense of enjoyment when it wasn't _really_ Rocket?

Rocket seemed to have his own agenda as he felt up Peter's arm, pulling it towards him so that he could feel at his torso. The touch sent a jolt through him, one of the less innocent variety. "Um, Rocket," Peter attempted in a small voice. "What're you doin' man?"

"He is searching for things to take." Drax replied. "I remember seeing creatures like him do this before."

"We must hurry, Peter," Gamora pitched in, her voice mildly concerned.

Rocket was on the brink of death, and there he was, searching Peter's pockets for something shiny.

Peter knew that this was a delicate situation and sighed, hoping Rocket wouldn't bite him. Carefully, he reached out his other hand, which Rocket began to sniff with focal interest. He latched onto Peter completely and seemed almost entirely unbothered when Peter stepped back, effectively bringing Rocket out of his hole and clinging onto him.

"Well, uh, there we go." He said, eyebrows raised at how Rocket was now sniffing at his neck. His breath tickled against Peter's skin and he forced down the whine that wanted to break loose.

He reached out to pet Rocket, which his furry counterpart didn't seem to mind either. And if he listened carefully, he heard the ghost of a purr in Rocket's throat. Though attempting not to relieve Rocket in anyway from his decent mood, he did make it a goal of his to keep Rocket's crotch from making contact with him. The guy was nude, and Peter did not want to get anymore mixed feelings right then.

He continued to calm Rocket, and even when they stepped off of the ship, Rocket was curious but not undeterred from his goal to completely sniff Peter. They'd left Groot to remain on the ship; he was small and couldn't venture far, besides the point that they really didn't want him to witness whatever was going to happen.

One of the most disquieting things about Half-world was that the only civilized part of it remained within a dome. Outside of the dome was a wasteland of ruin; destroyed, abandoned buildings amid clouds of dust and charred, unidentifiable structures. Peter wondered what could've caused such damage, but decided it would probably be better not to ask questions.

Even though they'd contacted Half-world's primary scientific base hours before docking, it was clear that the residents of Half-world were not particularly pleased when they saw a raccoon nestled into the arms of the pilot. Humanoid aliens in straightjackets, it seemed, inhabited the public area. They laid strewn across the ashen ground, mumbling to themselves in faraway discontent, or they distanced themselves from others and glowered at all they saw. Rocket, in particular, was not taken well. The amount of dirty looks they got on the way to the scientific base were innumerable and Peter imagined poor, confused little Rocket having to live in a place like this. His paranoia was probably what kept him alive for so long, and he lamented for not having fully grasped all of Rocket's cautious, snippy behavior beforehand.

One of the lead scientists - an aged Kree man - in the animal testing department was standing outside of the establishment to greet them. He squinted his eyes in agitated scrutiny, one hand firmly grasping a clipboard, the other a ray-gun.

"Whoa there," Peter attempted to lift a hand, but found that Rocket relied on said hand for playing-purposes. "We're not here for any trouble."

"You mentioned no violence in your earlier arrangement," Drax growled, a hand twitching towards one of his daggers.

"We can't be too careful, not with subject 8P913," the scientist sneered.

Peter squeezed Rocket a bit closer to him, which only really prompted Rocket to wiggle in his grasp.

"You know what we're here for." Gamora responded with just as much malice, the danger of her sheer existence evident by the sharpness of her eyes. It was one of those moments when Peter was endlessly thankful for her presence, as intimidating as it was.

The man looked in abject disgust at Rocket before he shook the expression from his visage. "We have agreed to do what you ask, for the sum of five hundred and fifty thousand units."

Gamora and Peter glanced at each other, and though they detested the very thought of losing so much money - let alone to this awful place - they knew what they had to do to save Rocket.

"You got it," Peter replied quietly, voice dry as Rocket began to pick at his hair.

"Fine." The scientist nodded, as though he didn't really want them to accept the deal. "You may address me as Dr. Dal-ze. Follow me inside."

The doors before them opened like the gates of hell, and Peter couldn't help but feel he'd signed a deal with the devil.

* * *

**As some of you may or may not know, I write my multi-chapter stories in advance before publishing any of them and then, when they're complete (or complete up until the last chapter), I update them every week. Unfortunately I have to update this one a bit earlier because I'll visiting California for the holidays and won't have access to a computer for a lil while. So, happy holidays; enjoy!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Flowers for Rocket: Chapter Four**

* * *

_"How strange it is that people of honest feelings and sensibilty, who would not take advantage of a man born without arms or legs or eyes—how such people think nothing of abusing a man with low intelligence."_

_Flowers for Algernon, 1959_

* * *

"I refuse to do this operation on that piece of filth!" Hissed a centaurian with an apparent death wish, what with how Peter's fingers were itching towards the gun straining against his pocket.

Dr. Dal-ze returned the sentiment with a slow blink. The other doctors surrounding the table that Rocket was to be on - as soon as he budged from Peter's arms - glanced to each other with equivalent expressions of detest. Peter felt paranoid and angry, a feeling he was all too familiar with and he nestled Rocket further into his arms. Being that Gamora and Drax were patiently dealing with the secretary to begin the process of transferring units, Peter was alone with his dying friend.

Rocket was sniffing curiously at the sterile environment they were provided with; he seemed slightly on edge, as though he was familiar with this sort of place. And Peter wouldn't have been surprised, but at the same time, he wondered if maybe Rocket's lack of reaction to his own fear could be caused by the fact that he was only grasping at memories. It'd been a long time since he'd been at Half-world, and Peter imagined that his time spent as a real person was a blur to his now-animal self.

"Whatever they're paying isn't near enough to cover the damage that subject 8P913 caused." The centaurian doctor pointed out, which garnered several nods from the fellow surgeons.

"The guardians," Dr. Dal-ze retorted, voice firm. "Saved Xandar from destruction. And as you know, Xandar _is_ where we receive most of our profits."

Peter felt sick to his stomach. What would Nova Corps possibly gain from working with Half-world? He shuddered but pushed the thought away.

The centaurian shut his mouth after that, but it was clear he was still angry, and it resonated from all of the doctors as they got the area ready.

An alien that Peter couldn't identify if he tried turned to him, her yellow noseless face characterized by the tight frown on her lips. "Sir, you can't be in here while the surgery proceeds."

Peter's eyes narrowed and he glanced around the room to all the sullen, unpleasantly rage-filled doctors. It would be so easy for them to kill the love of his life and blame it on one of the billion chance problems that could've arisen within the surgery. He wasn't about to let that happen.

He wouldn't lose another person he loved to a hospital.

With a hoarse voice, he finally responded. "...No. I'm staying. I don't care if I have to wear one of those weird face masks, I'm staying right here and making sure that nothing goes wrong."

There was a pause in the room, silence so thick that Peter's breath felt ragged and way too loud, no matter how hard he tried to quiet it down. Rocket chewed on his shirt idly, bunched up in Peter's lap with his tail wrapped around him and he realized that his hostility triggered a protective urge from his raccoon friend. With one shaking hand, he pet Rocket, his warm fingers curling against the soft gray fur. Rocket's bushy tail stopped swishing in agitation at that, but trembles continued to course through him that Peter could not ease.

"This is a highly complicated surgery," Dr. Dal-ze commented quietly, his eyes hard as he stared Peter down. "We must open up subject 8P913's skull-plate and administer two serums into the prefrontal area of it's frontal lobe, and then another to it's parietal lobe. We have to not only administer a completely new serum into the cerebellum, but then we must attach a neural motion sensor to it. The occipital lobe must be injected with a similar drug, and in order to get to it we have to make an incision at the lower portion of his skull, which then must be replaced with a metallic insert. Then we must add a receptor into it's temporal lobe, to which we must then slice from the subject's scapula to it's pelvis so that we can rewire the receptor for long-term usage. After that, we must add additional metallic implants to the vertebrae to make sure that the subject can continue to stand upright and hold all the new weight. To finish, we must remove old, outdated or damaged technology imbedded within subject 8P913 and replace it. Which, I'm assuming, is quite a bit."

Peter grew paler with every word, and his heart tore at his soul when he realized that Rocket's recollection of having been torn apart over and over was no exaggeration. Dr. Dal-ze gave him another moment to soak in this information before his eyes crinkled even further in irritated testing, black beady irises burning into Rocket.

"Do you really want to witness all of this?"

Peter swallowed thickly, and with the bravest face he could muster, he nodded and squeezed Rocket a bit closer. "Yeah. I do."

Dr. Dal-ze glanced to the rest of his team, who seemed surprised but not undeterred by Peter's determination. Clearing his throat, Dr. Dal-ze nodded. "Very well. You must wear a face-mask, and you may not disrupt the surgery at any time."

"Why would you want to stay?" The centaurian doctor from before asked, voice suspicious. "What would you possibly have to gain from seeing our subject's surgery? It's not for the faint of heart."

Peter reached out a hand to touch Rocket's forehead, and the raccoon immediately shifted towards him, pushing into his hand. Peter looked down at him, eyes full of hurt.

"He means more to me than you could ever understand."

No further questions were asked. Peter took the mask offered to him by the noseless doctor earlier, and before he wrapped it around his face, on impulse he placed the most gentle of kisses on Rocket's forehead.

_I won't leave you alone._

When all was ready, it became evident that strapping Rocket down was a predicament within itself. He was a biting, scratching mess, and Peter had to stop himself from tears once more. It was also clear that Peter couldn't help until he was fully strapped in; Rocket kept reaching for him and latching on whenever he got too close, hissing and snapping his teeth at the doctors.

Eventually, they managed to get him into the operation table, strapping each limb down and then, finally, they pulled another strap over his forehead. Rocket continued to make furious barks and growls, struggling against his bonds. Peter blinked the tears away and reached to scratch just under his snout, which surprisingly, subdued the growling. Even so, Rocket breathed heavily, shaking and glancing around in intense fear.

"All right." Dr. Dal-ze took hold of a scalpel. "Let's begin."

"Wait a sec," Peter exclaimed from behind the crowd of doctors that took up every corner of the table. "Aren't you gonna like, use some sort of pain medication or something? So that it doesn't hurt him?"

Dr. Dal-ze looked mildly alarmed at the very insinuation, and many of the doctors exchanged incredulous glances.

"We have never used anesthesia for the operations in this facility. It's unnecessary." A badoon responded, her features displaying utter confusion.

"Unnecessary?" Peter gawked, tone shrill. "You're about to rip open his skull! It's gonna be fuckin' painful!"

The doctors shared that same, shocked look once more, as though having never taken into consideration that their subjects would be in pain, despite the screams of agony that echoed down the hallways.

"Give him something, _something_ to stop the pain." Peter demanded, and it seemed to take effect, even with his shaking voice.

The badoon doctor was the first to respond, and began rummaging through one of the cabinets. She quickly produced a small vial. "This... Is normally something we use on humanoid subjects, so I would only recommend a portion of it's use."

Loading it into the needle was already grating for Peter to watch, just knowing that if he hadn't been there, Rocket would've faced the same excruciating pain he'd been subjected to in the past, who knows how many times. He forced himself to remain focused on Rocket, forced himself to watch as Rocket's tail twitched and he barked when the needle was pushed into his thigh, forced himself to keep his face steady when Rocket closed his eyes and his breathing evened.

"First shot administered," Dr. Dal-ze's voice projected throughout the room. "Start the clock."

And the nightmare began.

* * *

**This surgery is ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. I based it off of a human brain, too, which is significantly larger than a raccoon brain, which is something I did only because I couldn't find reliable information on a raccoon's brain. Allow me to explain my thought process for this surgery;**

**All the serums used are essentially steroids. They're intended to open Rocket's senses so that he can access a higher percentage of his brain. The two serums for the prefrontal area of his frontal lobe will aid him in advanced mental function, judgement, creativity, etc. They will also open him up to more control and consciousness of his movement and speech, and the sensations he feels from touch. ****The serum to his parietal lobe will help him process information like written language and comprehension. ****The serum into the cerebellum will give him more control of his posture and movement, which lets him stand on two legs. The motion sensor will make sure that he's aware of his settings and doesn't experience vertigo. ****The drug for his occipital lobe will give him more comprehension of his sight and ability to process visual images. The metal plate is pretty self-explanatory; it has to replace the fraction of the skull that they're going to remove, and I'm sure that Rocket's skull is already mostly metal. ****The receptor for his temporal lobe, once again, is to help him with his movement and posture so that he can act like a person, imitate others' movements. It must be wired down his spine. Assuming that there's already something like that implanted in his brain, they have to replace it and then wire the new one so that it can be used for the rest of his life.**

**The metallic implants for Rocket's vertebrae are much like armor, so that his spine has a stronger foundation and can hold himself upwards with all the new weight the drugs and implants will cause. And then, Rocket probably has a lot of damage from years of wear-and-tear, so it would be understandable for the scientists to replace old machinery inside him so that it doesn't interact badly with his new modifications.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Flowers for Rocket: Chapter Five**

* * *

_"Nothing in our minds is ever really gone. The operation had covered him over with a veneer of education and culture, but emotionally he was there - watching and waiting."_

_Flowers for Algernon, 1959_

* * *

Peter was folded in on himself, his fingers tied together tensely as he watched over a sleeping Rocket. They were a full day away from Half-world at that point. The rest of the guardians had sensed Peter's desire to be alone with Rocket, and although Groot didn't seem happy about not being able to keep an eye on him, they all relented to leaving the two to their privacy. Rocket was sleeping deeply and soundly, something that none of the guardians - Groot included - had never witnessed. It would take him awhile to fully recover from the 28 hour surgery, which required a lot of rest. Peter knew that his current sleep was due to the anesthesia, but he refused to relay any of the details of what had happened in the operation room.

What he saw, he would never forget.

Peter released a shuddering exhale before sighing and raking a hand through his hair, eyes straining to remain open. He hadn't slept since this ordeal started and he didn't plan on sleeping until he was assured that Rocket was back to normal.

Even though he'd been there while the surgery was going on, Peter was far from well versed in it's proceedings. They could've easily sabotaged something and taken the money. While it was highly probable that they weren't stupid enough to do that (Xandar wouldn't take too lightly to them killing off one of their heroes, and they'd gotten a good look at Drax and Gamora before they began. No one wanted to mess with those two), the fear still lingered that something was amiss. He wondered if that fear would always be there.

"Mmmmnn," a hoarse, tired voice sighed, muffled by the pillow.

Peter sat up straight, his eyes widening as he intensely scrutinized his waking love. Rocket's tiny black hands shifted upwards, stretching his arms with an obscene crack, before they retracted to rub at his eyes. His ears twitched and he licked his lips, before slowly, his eyes opened and he looked directly up at Peter.

"Oh my God," Peter whispered, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yeah, I know," Rocket rasped dryly as he leaned up to stretch his neck.

Peter watched him for a moment before he snapped out of his stupor and grabbed the water bottle from the night-stand. Quickly, he unscrewed it and handed it to Rocket, his hands shaking. Rocket's fingers slowly closed over the cylinder and he stared at it for a moment, every second painful in Peter's eyes, before he gulped down at least half.

"Thanks," Rocket winced, coughing. He sounded more awake as he sat up.

"Are you... I..." Peter cleared his throat, scooting his chair a bit closer. "How do you feel?"

"What are you, a therapist?" Rocket snarked, his snout curling into a smile. "Better than before. Much fuckin' better."

Peter was trying to blink away the tears that were threatening to slip over the brims of his eyes, but this time, he couldn't hold it back. With a miserable sniff, the tears began flowing freely from his eyes and he covered his mouth with his fist. Rocket looked at him, ears falling and his eyes narrowed.

"Stop cryin' ya idiot," Rocket muttered, but his tone shook and tears began to slip from his own eyes. "You're makin' me... Look stupid."

"I thought I'd never hear your voice again," Peter whispered, burying his face into his hands.

"I was too dumb to know what was goin' on, but I remember all of it," Rocket admit, and he reached forth to take one of Peter's hands in his.

Peter looked at Rocket's hand, clutching his fingers in the much smaller ones, and that was when he really started sobbing.

Rocket pulled him forward, enough so to prompt Peter to get on the bed with him. Two furry arms wrapped themselves around Peter's torso and Rocket buried his face into the crook of Peter's neck, sighing, and then there were hot tears rolling down his shoulder.

"Y'smell like sweat," Rocket whispered, and then he was rambling on as Peter sobbed against the top of his furry head and pulled him even closer. "Don't tell anyone but I kinda... Don't mind it so much. Makes y'smell nice, natural ev'n. I like ya scent, more than I do anyone else's. N' it's always been that way, I j'st, couldn'ta done anythin' about it 'til now. You smell comforting, like a home I never had."

Rocket's voice broke and he pulled Peter in closer, before continuing.

"This ain't easy for me to say," his voice was muffled into Peter's jacket now, breath warm and heavy against his skin. "But the way you were there for me... You stayed. You made sure I'd be okay, n' I can't... I can't even show you how much that means to me. I don't know why you did it, Quill. I don't know why you care so god damn much. But I... I was so fuckin' scared, the whole time, and you were the one who saved me."

Rocket pulled back, and the two of them looked at each other, faces obscured by tears. Rocket repeated himself; "I was so fuckin' _scared_."

Peter leaned in on instinct and just kissed him, and Rocket pulled him in closer with tiny black fingers tangled in his hair.

Peter's heartbeat picked up, inhaling against Rocket's lips as he realized that he was kissing Rocket and Rocket was kissing back. He pulled his furry love a bit closer, fingers scrunching up at his arm fur. Rocket yanked at his hair, and Peter managed to grasp that it was a loving gesture.

It didn't last long but somehow, the seconds that they kissed managed to melt away all of the pain and agony that had taken place over the last few days. It might always linger - the memories, the fear - but Peter thought he wouldn't mind so much if he could have kisses like that again. When they pulled back, Peter was smiling, and he wiped dumbly at the tears staining his cheeks.

Rocket mirrored his grin. "Fuckin' idiot."

Peter leaned in to kiss him again and pulled him close, before the two of them fell into the sheets. With Rocket's face nuzzled comfortably into Peter's collarbone and Peter's legs bent to cradle him, they fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**I'm aware that this chapter is distinctly short in contrast to the others but I hope you guys don't mind. There is one more after this, and then that's it! I hope I managed to display their emotions in a way that made sense. Both of them have difficulty expressing themselves - Rocket particularly - so verbal sentiments seem strained. I feel you on that one, Rocket. Can't make sense of my emotions when I try to put them into words. The only time I'm honest is when I'm high.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Flowers for Rocket: Chapter Six**

* * *

_"All the barriers were gone. I had unwound the string she had given me, and found my way out of the labyrinth to where she was waiting. I loved her with more than my body."_

_Flowers for Algernon, 1959_

* * *

Morning came in the form of soft breathing against Peter Quill's neck, warmth on his chest in a sea of blankets. He opened his eyes and was introduced to the image of Rocket curled up against his body, arms wrapped around one of Peter's arms as he pressed his muzzle into Peter's collarbone. If he looked further, Peter could see Rocket's tail contently swishing by his feet, and Rocket pulled him closer as Peter inhaled.

Waking up next to Rocket was more beautiful than the Terran sunrises he'd come to miss.

As though sensing Peter's waking, Rocket's ears flickered and he steadily opened his sleepy eyes. With a gentle yawn that exposed his pink tongue and sharp teeth, Rocket shifted further into Peter for a moment to soak up his warmth before he pulled back slightly.

"Mornin'," was his first word.

Peter glanced over to the clock just behind Rocket's head. They'd slept for fourteen hours and by then it was mid-day. With a stretch, Peter indiscreetly cuddled up closer to Rocket and smiled.

"Yeah, kinda." There was a pause as Peter used his hand to gently stroke down Rocket's back, careful to evade newly stitched scars, before he spoke again. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in years," Rocket sighed, tone pleased as he attempted to crack his neck before his eyes widened. "…Did they do somethin' to my spine in there?"

Alarmed, Peter sat up. "Yeah, they kinda reinforced it with metal. Why, does it hurt?"

"No," Rocket explained, still recovering from momentary surprise. "It feels better than it ever has. It's like, nothin' feels out of place."

Peter sighed. "Oh, good. I was worried that they messed something up."

Rocket's eyes fell for a moment before he looked up at Peter with something that resembled demure. "Did you… Really stay the whole time?"

Peter's lips tightened. "Well, yeah. I didn't want them to mess something up. They really didn't like you in there."

"That's 'cause I almost singlehandedly wrecked most of the remainin' planet on my way out. They should call it Eighth of a World now," Rocket responded, tone wry, before his coy expression faded into gratefulness. "…Thank's again, Pete. I… I'd be all flavors of screwed if you hadn't… Y'know."

Peter's lips tugged into a gentle smile and he leaned down to kiss Rocket's forehead. Rocket chuckled quietly, a dark gruff sound that made Peter internally pant.

"'Bout time you came onto me," Rocket muttered, and he leaned back to press his lips to Peter's jawline.

"Wait a sec, you knew I…" Peter swallowed in awkwardness. "Liked you?"

"Uh, duh," Rocket grinned, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Of course I did. I j'st, wanted to wait 'til you were comfortable enough to approach me first, n' all that stuff."

"And you don't think I'm like… Weird for liking you?" Peter questioned, feeling guilty for even asking such a thing.

Rocket looked mildly stunned, but thankfully, not in a negative manner. "You ain't the first, Quill. I mean, you're the first in a long time, so I didn't wanna flark it all up since I like ya too, but I have had a lot of flings with dames and gents alike. It's nothin' strange to be into a genetically altered one of a kind science experiment with a questionable origin story, accordion' to a literal army of chicks who wanted my pelt for breakin' their hearts."

Peter was taken back, enough so to be silent for a moment as he soaked in all the information Rocket was giving him, before an almost exasperated smile graced his face. "…I'm not gonna have to defeat your 700 evil exes to get to date you, am I? I've been living out a 'Peter Quill vs. The World' kinda story my whole life."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Rocket sent him a suspicious glance. "…Well, either way, no ya don't. I already did that on my own. Er, concernin' my ex lady-lovers, that is, but most of the guys I've played around with are dead now, so I doubt they're comin' back."

Peter laughed and leaned in to kiss him right on the lips, only pausing to first say, "...Not the first time I've liked someone who's had a history of killing their past partners."

When they pulled back - reluctantly so - Rocket burst into tame laughter. Genuine enough that it resembled a raccoon chittering, which brought a smile to Peter's face because he knew now that this was one of Rocket's real laughs.

"You got issues, Quill," Rocket shook his head, snout contorted into a grin.

Peter laughed back and he kissed Rocket's cheek. Rocket, however, put a hand to the top of Peter's head and pushed him down slightly so that he was kissing at his neck. Peter didn't mind at all, of course, and smirked into the unruly fur as he placed small kisses all over it. He was so immersed in his quest to explore Rocket's upper torso with his lips that he didn't even realize how irregular Rocket's breath had gotten until a minute or so had passed. He too had grown warm, and he knew that if he didn't stop then there would be a rather inappropriate bulge between his legs.

Pulling back, Peter smiled uneasily. "Maybe we should stop. I don't wanna like... Hurt you or anything. You just got out of a pretty serious surgery."

Rocket looked up at him curiously. "Is that the only thing stoppin' you from consenting? Be honest."

"What, me not wanting to hurt you?" Peter confirmed. "Well, yeah. If you were healthy as usual I would already be showing you my _real_ dance moves."

Rocket snorted a little at that, before he sat up and yanked Peter down into a fervent kiss, and wow, Rocket had a _really_ talented tongue. He'd never kissed an alien with a tongue like Rocket's; soft and so flexible and warm. When Rocket finally backed off, his voice was breathy and alluring in a way that _really_ made Peter hard.

"Trust me baby boo, I know I can take it, banged up or not. I've been thinking of havin' you inside me for a long time now and I ain't about to let a few stitches get in my way."

Peter's dick surged to life at that and he didn't even realize he was gaping until Rocket pressed a slender finger to his chin to shut his mouth. With a devious, sultry wisp of a gaze, he sunk down low. Rocket bunched up the sheets as he went, exposing Peter's legs to the cold air of the room; he wasn't chilled for long, however, when Rocket's very hot and soft body pressed between his thighs and he grinned sharply at Peter.

Peter's breaths were coming out in short pants now, his cock standing stiffly in anticipation of Rocket's mouth that was getting closer and closer. Rocket chortled beneath his breath, a low rumbling sound that was definitely fake and definitely meant to turn Peter on further. It worked, eliciting a soft hum of a whine from Peter as he gently pressed his hips upwards.

Rocket's mouth was millimeters away from the head, his warm breath washing over it in intervals. "Before I get to the doin', lemme clarify. Do you consent?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and his face flushed. He wanted to control himself from thrusting up into Rocket's mouth right then and there before flipping him over and slamming his cock into that cute little ass, but he valued Rocket's wellbeing more than anything else. The mutual courtesy on Rocket's part caused his heart to clench and flutter with giddy, and he fell in love with Rocket a little more.

"I… Yeah, but only if you're sure that you won't get hurt. And if you start to feel pain, let me know, and we can stop, okay?" Peter pushed out his words evenly, attempting to steady his vision and his voice against the arousal that was burning from his core.

Rocket smirked, his only indication of confirmation, before he opened his mouth and suddenly Peter's cock had a very warm, soft and flexible tongue wrapping around it. He immediately groaned, his legs tensing. He wanted to throw his head back but at the same time he couldn't take his eyes from Rocket's, his new lover staring up at him with such intense carnal passion that Peter felt a sweetness burning up his heart. He thrust upwards as gently as he could let himself, knowing that he was losing control.

Rocket hummed quietly at that and proceeded to down his cock even further. His teeth were no where in sight and Peter only belatedly realized that Rocket was pressing his lips over them. Peter moaned out loud at his consideration. With one hand, he scratched behind Rocket's ears. Rocket's eyes widened and a soft trill escaped his throat, before he managed to stretch his mouth to reach the base of Peter's cock. He kept it there for a moment or so, Peter grunting, before he pulled off.

"I need ya inside me pretty much now, Pete."

Peter stared at him, dumbly, taking an extra second to process what he was being told before he blinked and jumped. "Oh. Yeah! Um, we need like, lube n' shit. I think there's some in the drawer?" He leaned over to open it up, and much to his relief, he was correct.

"Could do without the shit," Rocket commented numbly. "I'm all for explorin' new kinks but right now I think we needa keep to the basics."

Peter laughed and shook his head, before he gestured for Rocket to turn around.

Fingering Rocket was an endeavor within itself; both of them were impatient but Peter did his best to be thorough, knowing that not only was Rocket's body still recovering but also that the size difference could be an issue if they weren't careful. After several minutes or so, Rocket turned to send him a petulant glance and swatted his fingers away with a huff. Peter laughed and lubed up his cock, before he began to push in. After settling for a moment or so, he began to slide in and out with caution. Rocket's tail was switching in agitated arousal as he hummed softly with each shift. Eventually, Peter took the hint and began to move with more fervor.

"Mmm, much better, baby boo..." Rocket moaned rather loudly, pushing back into his thrusts. "Pull my tail a little, won't ya?"

Peter panted heavily, leaning forth to engulf Rocket's body and did as told, yanking the gorgeous fluffy tail. Rocket cried out in pleasure at this, and they began to shift together faster, a mess of whimpers and grunts as they fucked. Peter pushed him into the mattress, his virile dick slamming in and out of Rocket's taut, supple ass. Rocket made coos and chitters in addition to his keening as the two of them lost themselves in the pleasure.

"Oh yeah," Peter groaned. "That's what I'm talking about..."

"Nghh, fuck me Pete!" Rocket near shouted as he pressed back into him. "Aw yeah, baby!"

Peter grabbed him by the hips and pushed himself deep inside, as far as he could go, and his thick cum exploded from his cock, filling Rocket to the brim. Rocket drew out a long, loud moan and he to orgasmed, coating the bed with his own cum. They lay there for a moment, soaking up the moment, as Peter's dick slipped out. After they caught their breath, Peter rolled off to the side so that they could cuddle. He was ecstatic to find that his plan was mirrored by Rocket.

"You're feeling okay, right? I wasn't too rough?" Peter mumbled into his fur as he stroked Rocket's head.

Rocket nuzzled a bit closer. "You were perfect, sweet-cheeks."

Peter smiled as the two of them drifted back off to sleep, and for the first time in awhile, everything was just right.

* * *

**Hey all, I want to apologize for not updating sooner. I got incredibly distracted. I split this chapter in half, because of how long it got, so there's one more chapter and then we're all done!**


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